First Frost

Monday morning it was 32 degrees when I woke up. It didn't stay there long and everything in my garden, save the nipped basil, was untouched. Tuesday morning it was 27 and the garden was not so lucky.

Usually I am really sad about the first frost. I typically try to extend the season with a crazy line up of tarps, blankets, buckets, and just about anything else I can use to cover up my plants. I drag the assortment of plant savers out into the yard each evening and carefully cover the tender plants. In the morning I take it all off. Evening repeat. Morning repeat. Evening repeat. Day after day. I love my garden and find joy in caring for it and eating the delicious fruits of my labor. I miss it when it is gone and generally do all I can to prolong gardening season.

But this year I didn't do that. I knew it was going to freeze. I picked what was ripe, put a bucket over the basil and two more on the artichokes, and went inside. When I awoke to the chilly 27 degree morning, I wasn't sad, just relieved. With all of my kids, the animals, a never ending supply of housework, laundry, and other demands...I felt grateful that some of the plants would no longer be needing any of my attention. I peacefully went out into the garden and surveyed the damage, clipped off the frozen plants, pulled up the bush beans, and fed it all to my chickens with a smile on my face.

My mom, wise woman that she is, used to tell me that you can only nurture so much. I think I have reached that point. I only have so much to give, so I give it to my family. The plants will still be there next year. I can order new seeds and divide the perennials any old spring. But my babies will only be babies once.